


Taste

by FreckledSkittles



Series: The Five Senses [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Lawyer Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., M/M, Making Out, Rivalry, also the canon we deserve, oooooh so many, the au we deserve, you KNOW theres gonna be banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: “Come to gloat about your latest conquest?”“Unfortunately for you, I don’t have a choice.”
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: The Five Senses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632616
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73
Collections: Barisi Valentine Prompt Challenge 2020





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Enemies to Lovers AU that the people deserve
> 
> Beta who? Don't worry about it

Dominick “Call Me Sonny” Carisi, Jr. had been a lucky hire. Rafael was sure of it. His background was law enforcement—a few stints in each borough, followed by a few good years at Manhattan Homicide and Queens SVU—and according to everyone around him, that was going to prove to be an important skill to have as a prosecutor. Almost as powerful as having a sixth sense or a superpower. And Rafael hated it.

He hated that Carisi got special recognition because of his past employment. He hated that alums from Fordham Law School were elbowing him or reveling in the shared alma mater—the same one that just so happened to be where his former friend turned mayoral candidate turned pedophile attended. He hated how the little oddities Carisi had were seen as “quirky” or, dare he even say it, “cute.” Rafael was convinced the only reason why those words were used was because of how easy it was for him to break into a smile or to laugh or to stride across the room in just a few long steps. His entire body, mass included, was just a giraffe.

Rafael was a person who would only do something if he thought it was beneficial for him or if he genuinely wanted to experience something. He was stubborn in the way that the more someone requested him to follow their ways or to take their advice, the less he was willing or going to do it. He deemed it a rather useful skill in avoiding the press and peddlers on the street trying to shove flyers in his way as he passed. And so far, it was becoming a good skill for resisting the Sex Crimes Bureau’s latest hire.

Not everyone thinks it’s as beneficial. Olivia Benson included. She had buttered him up with coffee and some snacks before making the request to see the new ADA and offer some advice on a case. It was the first one going to trial where the defendant was going to testify, and the last thing anyone needed was a miscarriage of justice. Carisi, according to Captain Benson, was the exact person for such a duty. And even if he despised the attempt at directing him into place, Rafael found himself following her orders much to his chagrin. Any other time he might not have been so hesitant, but this is different. There’s a case on the line and the chance for three women to see their rapist go behind bars. He should at least offer some form of assistance.

It takes Rafael a few minutes to knock on the door to the office where Carisi must be. Lower-level ADAs don’t have the nicest setup, he remembers with a shiver. At least Carisi can look forward to moving out in a few months. There’s an office with his name on it, according to the whispers he hears when the giraffe impersonator walks by. Maybe then, and it’s a hard maybe, he can actually earn respect instead of having it gifted to him.

The room is lined with desks shrouded in paperwork of at least a thousand various cases across Manhattan. There is, thankfully, only one ADA in the room—and the one he wants to see. Meaning only one person will be witness to what is about to be uncharacteristic behavior from the tough and unrelenting Rafael Barba. If anything, Rafael tells himself, there must be something in the universe willing to show him mercy or lend some strength to get through this.

Carisi looks up when he enters, hair falling out of the slick he had used to style it, sleeves scrunched at his shoulders. A flare of heat rises in Rafael, recognizable as a typical reaction when the other ADA is in his presence, starting at the tip of his tongue and traveling into a pool in his gut. Carisi reacts with a more physical comparison, hunching over even more and huffing under his breath.

“Come to gloat about your latest conquest?” Carisi grumbles. Even his grating accent, as quiet as his voice is in that instance, sends Rafael’s blood boiling.

“So you heard about the Clark case,” Rafael smirks. There’s a small Tupperware container of vegetables on his desk, flirting with the edge of the desk and his elbow. Rafael steps forward and takes a piece of celery from the container. He deliberately bites into it when Carisi glowers daggers into him. “Glad to know the gossip mill hasn’t grown tired of me.”

Carisi rolls his eyes. There’s something subdued about him. Rafael can feel it in his gut, with the way he sits, the way he sounds, the way he looks. This is a shell of the man who verbally spars with him. He shares an appearance, and a voice, but the mannerisms and the character he knows is absent. Interesting.

“What’s got you down, Carisi?” Rafael leans against his desk, posing as casual but buzzing with attention. He wants to know what this man has to say. It’s taking all his energy to not add a retort that’s much crueler than the one before.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” he states. If he is truly irritated with him, he does a fantastic job of showing it. Carisi’s words ooze with a flare of anger and a threatening bite that Rafael perceives as a warning. If it were any other time, he might have left. But Olivia wanted him to speak to the greenhorn, and even if he wasn’t a cop, when Captain Benson gave an order, he should follow it. (Never mind the times he’s defied her in the past. Rafael doesn’t know why this one time is more important than ever.)

Rafael slides against the edge of his desk so that he’s only a few steps away from Carisi. The Tupperware of vegetables scoots back over the surface and bumps into a well-placed elbow. He finishes off his bite of celery and takes another. Carisi reaches out to smack him a few seconds too late. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have a choice.”

Carisi sighs, exasperated and bothered. “Actually, you do. Any other time, I would love to mess with you, but I’m working. Not all of us can walk into Manhattan with reputations behind us.”

Rafael barks out a laugh. “You say that like I didn’t have to work hard to get here.” When all Carisi gives is a shrug, returning to the work in front of him, Rafael smacks his hand in the middle of the paper and forces him to make eye contact. Staring at him head-on, Carisi looks tired; his eyes are watery, begging for some peace, his lips turned down in a permanent pull. Carisi has an uncanny ability to pout like a puppy kept out of his human’s room.

This is beyond anything like that, more serious and a little startling.

But rather than give him a break, Rafael pushes on. He has to get through this—for Olivia’s sake and for the women who were attacked. “Didn’t the academy teach you to never judge a book by its cover? Or has your tour of all five boroughs ruined your memory?

Carisi tugs the paper free and leans back in his chair to properly glower at him. “Leave. Please.”

“No.”

Carisi has incredibly blue eyes, the irises vivid and bright no matter what emotion he may be experiencing. But any semblance of beauty in them is gone and replaced with a cruel column of ice. “I have three women panicking that their rapist is gonna walk free because of the testimony he’s gonna give tomorrow. Dodds and Rollins are threatening me to make sure I do this right and keep on making cop jokes. I got Cutter up my ass because my first day in court was a mess and I forgot everything I learned from law school. So unless you actually want me to add you to my shit list, I think you should take my advice and leave.”

Rafael idly chews at the piece of celery and shrugs. “If it really bothers you, there’s always your next confession.”

That was definitely the last straw; Carisi hops to his feet with a disgruntled sigh and reaches to grab him. “Alright, I’ll walk you out myself.”

Rafael dives out of his reach. Carisi huffs and opens his mouth but Rafael beats him to it. “That last one was out of line, I’ll admit that, but I didn’t just come here to insult you.”

“You sure?” His eyes stretch impossibly wide, contrasting to the spike of his brows. “‘Cause you got a funny way of showing it.”

“You didn’t make it any easier for me.” When he receives a second incredulous look, Rafael takes the loss and frowns. “Alright, fine, I’ll stop. But I’m not leaving. As much as I hate to say it, I came to help you.”

“After you insulted me and stole my veggies? Hard pass, Barba.”

Rafael ignores that and continues. “Captain Benson told me about the problems you’ve had with this case. She said I have the experience to help you with this, especially with a defendant who’s more sadistic than the others you’ve faced.”

“I appreciate it,” Carisi states, completely unconvinced and unimpressed, “but I don’t need anyone’s help.” He makes a move to escort him out again but Rafael sidesteps and raises his hands defensively.

“Tomorrow, when you cross-examine him, you should treat him like you would a perp. And I know you’ve done that already, but you have to show the jury who he is.” Carisi stares at him, blank but not fighting him at least, and Rafael continues. “The defense doesn’t want to address that. They think the word of a ‘good man’ is enough to acquit when there are three victims and two witnesses who can attest to his cruelty.” He flounders for words—a first, for sure—and Rafael finds himself stepping forward, arms crossed in front of his chest. “When you were a cop, you were good at interrogations, right?”

Carisi blinks and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know how you know that but—”

“Just because I’m annoyed by you doesn’t mean I ignore you. I’m not a monster.” It’s partially true—Rafael knows about Carisi. Aside from his specialization in interrogations, his agility and athletic ability had come in handy more than once. He could be soft with a victim or their families and harsh to suspects and criminals. Neither side crossed over to one another. Probably because he felt so much that the emotions didn’t blend together; they were distinct and particular and separate from each other unlike anything else. “Put yourself back into an interrogation or an interview room. Lure his other side out, but do it with the tools his attorney provides, not your intuition.”

It feels strange to give advice, regardless of who it may be for but especially for a man he has been less than cordial with. Some of the other ADAs felt obligated to provide some words of wisdom or offer insight or even co-counsel if he was handling their arraignments. Rafael didn’t follow what some had come to see as an expectation. In Brooklyn, unless someone asked, words of advice were not thrown around for free. It was barely even earned; Brooklyn was self-sufficient and dedicated to figuring things out on their own terms. Manhattan and its cushy mannerisms were used as warnings in Kings County.

Carisi doesn’t say anything for a moment. He barely even reacts, his face devoid of any emotion or expression he could experience, blinking blankly back at him. Rafael doesn’t expect a lot—maybe a nod or a sound, something to at least acknowledge what he said. That doesn’t sound like anything that’s overwhelmingly demanding, especially when Carisi finally reacts with a small snort and looks at him with a cocked eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Rafael nearly chokes on an inhale and has to force himself to breathe to avoid an offended scoff. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? What were you expecting?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything!” Carisi snaps. “I’d rather you say nothing than risk your ego over me.”

“When was the last time you ate a meal?” Rafael retorts back. “And I mean an actual one, not a few stalks of celery and carrots. When did you make food for yourself that was cooked, by you, in your kitchen? Because I can guess with one look at you that it’s been a while.” Rafael gestures to his body, shoulders hunched and eyes diverted elsewhere in clear embarrassment. “You aren’t fooling your detectives and you’re not fooling me. This case and this job will eat you if you let it.”

“Yeah, I already know that, thanks.” Carisi steps back, making a move back to his desk, but Rafael stops him by stepping closer. The taller lawyer flares with anger and frowns deeper. “Do you even listen to anyone else? I feel like a broken record right now. Get out of my office.”

“Technically, it’s a shared office with other ADAs, so you have zero jurisdiction in kicking me out. What if I have a desk here?”

Carisi scoffs, smile tight and bitter. “You’re unbelievable. You’re really unbeliev—” His hands flail wildly in front of him like he’s trying to hail a rescue boat from far away. “You descend from your high horse because a woman you have never—and I mean  _ never _ —listened to before suggests you help me out? When that same woman has detectives who warned me to not turn out like you—a difficult, pretentious asshole who wants his track record winning above all else? What universe are you from that you think I would roll over and let you do that to me?!”

Rafael flounders for one second, and not another more, before the rage fills his lungs and he fires back. “As if you’re any better! You know this isn’t a job fair, right? You’ve gone through so many precincts, I’m surprised you know what case you’re working on. Also,” he picks up the Tupperware of veggies and thrusts it into Carisi’s chest, a few celery stalks bouncing up at the motion, “you should give up on being healthy now. You’ll eat less food in this line of work and when you  _ do _ eat something, it’ll be the exact same shit a college student piles into that gaping hole you call a mouth.”

Carisi shoves the vegetables back. The force shakes a few more stalks, and one of them pops out and falls to the ground. “I used to think people were good in the world. And I still do. But there are jerks out there who would rather watch the world burn than help it, and the only thing they’ll contribute is filling up vacancies in a state prison. And right now, I see no difference between those scum and the person right in front of me.”

“Are you saying I’m a criminal?”

“I’m not denying it.”

Rafael pushes the Tupperware away. “Fuck you.”

“Ditto.”

There’s only a brief pause between them, and then Rafael grabs Carisi by the collar and kisses him. It only lasts a few seconds, breaking up when Rafael comes to his senses and pulls away. Those blue eyes are like fire now, the hottest flame dancing over every inch of his face and running miles around his mouth. Rafael trips backward, his mind whirring at what he just did—it was instinctive, a deep yearning for whatever this was to end—and dammit they work in Sex Crimes. He should know better. “I’m—listen, that was wrong—” Rafael starts to turn away but Carisi grabs his wrist and stops him.

“Do it again,” Carisi demands. He looks less crazed than before but in a different way. The same urge Rafael had felt is boiling on the taller man’s face. “Kiss me.”

When Rafael doesn’t move, only gawks back at him, Carisi makes the move for him. He takes Rafael’s chin and brings their lips together, just as rough and sudden but shockingly tender with the added contact. Rafael grunts into the kiss, overwhelmed by the feel of his lips and the bubble of emotions filling his chest and throat. His eyes stay wide open and gawk at Carisi with amazement. They must have killed each other and are now in some different plane of existence. There is no way this is real.

Carisi pulls back. A thin string of saliva hangs between them and is broken by a flick of a tongue over pink lips. Carisi has pink lips. He knows how soft they are. He knows the taste of them. He knows what it looks like when Carisi, eyes bright and shiny, is practically overwhelmed from desire and the only remedy is expressing those feelings to the other man. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck—” Rafael surges forward and clashes their lips together. The second they make contact again, Carisi tosses the vegetables aside and grabs Rafael’s hips, tight and firm and unrelenting. His blood roaring in his ears, his hands itching to run all over the lean and smooth body in front of him, it feels like a dream. Rafael can’t help the pleased sound that leaps from his throat and is devoured instantly by Carisi. There’s definitely some talent in the gesture; Carisi molds his lips over his gently but firmly, like he’s making a statement. Each twitch tells of wanting more—because he can’t get enough and because he never expected the supply to run dry. Rafael can only push back and deliver as much as he can, take what is available, and devour it.

Rafael pulls back for air but Carisi has other plans. With a deep grunt, he guides Rafael to the desk and pushes against him so that he has no choice but to sit on it. Rafael sees what he’s trying to do, a bubble of amusement sitting in his chest at the reminder that he can just ask, and he scoots up and back onto the desk. The second he does, Carisi dives forward and kisses him again, this time his hands clutching either side of his face in desperation. Rafael curls a hand against the back of his head and clenches around the silvery strands. The sound ripped from Carisi’s throat is surprising to hear: desperate but thirsty, like the lust between them has built to an insatiable amount.

Carisi breaks them apart but still places soft butterfly pecks against his lips and cheeks. Rafael can’t help but smile at the gestures and grips his hair tighter. This time, the sound is free to be released, and Rafael laughs at the rolling moan that spills from Carisi’s now puffy lips. “I didn’t take you for a hair puller.”

“Shut up,” Carisi mumbles, devoid of malice and simply impatient to do more with their mouths again. Rafael debates leaning away, but he cancels the thought almost instantly. To leave the sanctuary of this moment would mean addressing the new change to their relationship. It would be an acceptance of what they are—whatever it may be now—and it is terrifying just to think about talking about a conversation. Rafael has had more flings and relationships that lasted maybe a year than something more intimate, due to his workload and his inability and unwillingness to compromise. He has zero experience with steady dating or even how to set it up. When it happened, it was from the other’s doing, and he either committed as minimally as he could or removed himself from the equation.

The feeling is frightening and unsettling, so Rafael ignores it and brings Carisi back to him, opening his mouth for an invitation and reaching his tongue out with curious trepidation. The response is instant and eager; Carisi’s tongue clashes against his, prodding insistently against him as if determined to suck out as much as he can. His hands are everywhere—down his back, under his chin, against his skin, searing through his clothes. Each spot of contact is hotter than the last and it’s dizzying. Rafael makes up for it with a squeeze of his hips and the steady hold of his collar that makes it clear neither of them is going anywhere.

Carisi leans closer against him, one hand falling beside Rafael’s thigh to keep himself propped up. Rafael forgoes the motion by leaning back even more and hauling Carisi up as he goes. The taller man wiggles on top of him, legs practically straddling him, and takes advantage of the motion by running his hands along Rafael’s waist and squeezing his thighs together. Rafael practically chokes into his mouth but pulls away to stifle it against his jaw.

“No marks,” Carisi requests. Rafael hums in acknowledgment and just pushes his teeth against his skin, applying enough pressure to make him aware of the presence but not actually puncturing the area. He skims over the curve of Carisi’s jaw and sighs when he gets to his ear, tempted to chomp on it and tug. He stops himself with a reminder of his request, steadying himself by planting his hands on Carisi’s narrow hips. From the way Carisi shifts and presses against his hand, he wants it to happen.

“It’s a real shame I can’t see your ass,” Rafael sighs. He feels more than he hears the choke of air that Carisi releases. “I’d love to watch it sit in my hands. Right in the center of my palm.” He drags one hand up Carisi’s waist, over the shape of his side and up to his shoulder, while the other stays flat against his back. Just above his belt. He won’t go anywhere without permission. “Luckily, your tailor left some things to still be imagined.”

Carisi swallows and bucks down so that his hips are levitating over his, thighs quivering from the proximity. “Maybe we can arrange you to see it.” He hides his face against Rafael’s neck but the smile still sits in his voice. “I can give you a chance to see it properly.”

Rafael finds himself smiling softly. He can think about vulnerability and exposure later. “That sounds lovely.” He tugs on Carisi’s hair to pull him up to his lips, and he can’t help but revel in the light taste of coffee that awaits him. Carisi pushes their tongues together, prodding around his mouth with a combination of delicate curiosity and overwhelming thirst. It’s starting to feel more and more like the taller man has been waiting for this to happen. His eagerness and passion for it bleed through each motion of his lips and each flick of his tongue.

Carisi moves back, noses knocking together while they catch their breath. Rafael can’t help but linger on his eyes and the swell of his lips, satisfaction flowing from him. For a moment, he feels a jolt of electricity spark to life and sizzle between them. Maybe it’s just now coming to life. Maybe it’s existed with them before and Rafael is just now noticing it. Either way, something is pushing him to continue kissing the lanky prosecutor and not stop until his lips have been thoroughly bruised, worn and tender.

“You taste like celery.”

And just like that, the feeling vanishes.

Rafael scowls almost instantly and pushes Carisi away. “Jerk. You taste like stale coffee.”

Carisi just smirks and moves off of him, sliding back to the ground with a small hop. He’s wiping off saliva from his mouth when Rafael, confident that his legs won’t collapse underneath him, drops off the desk. If Carisi looks like he’s been thoroughly made out with, he can only assume he looks the same. It was enough to clear his mind of what he came down here to do in the first place.

“Well,” Rafael sighs, adjusting his jacket with a tug on his lapels and a roll of his shoulders, “now that we got that out of the way…” He trails off when his mind drifts off again, imagining the feeling of Carisi’s lips and his tongue and his hands, wondering if it would feel just as nice against his bare skin—maybe his neck, or his chest, or his—

With the same uneasy energy, Carisi clears his throat and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. Ah. I gotta get back to, uh…” He scans his desk and fumbles for his legal pad, which has been scattered across the surface and a bit ruffled. Rafael hides an amused smirk behind a hand and a quick nip to his lower lip. “Hm. Work, hah.”

“Yep.” Carisi sits back down in his chair and fiddles with his paper, the same energy as Rafael running a hand through his hair and hoping he doesn’t look suspicious. If no one else notices it, he doesn’t have to pretend it exists either. “You don’t need anything else, right?” He barely registers the shake of his head; Rafael is already heading for the exit by the time he realizes he has stayed longer than he ever planned to. “Well, you have my office number if you need help.”

“Yeah. I’ll, ah, I’ll do that. If I need it.” Carisi doesn’t look up from his paper again. Rafael doesn’t bother to look.

The next day, when Carisi is celebrating both a successful interrogation and summations, Rafael passing him in the courthouse, his eyes fall on the pink lips in front of him. He knows how they feel. He knows how they taste. He knows the soft scent that wafts off of the taller man and how addicting it can be if he lets himself relish in it for too long. The man he has refused to get to know, a man he has avoided at every turn and forced to earn his respect rather than having it thrust down on him, is not the same man before him.

The same day that Carisi’s guilty verdict comes in, and he smiles so wide and so easily that his heart stutters three times before working again, Rafael makes a note to see a doctor soon for what is definitely not attraction to a man he has labeled his rival from the second his accent bled through One Hogan Place.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do they hate each other? Why did they make out? Let's see what the next installment of this five-part series has to say


End file.
